We've all heard and devoured the classic trope involving the shenanigans of a jock, a princess, a nerd, and a criminal. Although who knows of the trouble capable of ensuing when The Breakfast Club isn't PG-13 anymore?
That's the 2007 freshman batch...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
15th June 2007 NYC Outskirts
"A piece of advice; listen to mommy when she tells you to keep away from strangers."
"Or else there will be dire consequences."
The kids nod their heads along, and the five of us resume laughing and giggling at the expense of these poor souls lathered in gooey mud and chicken feathers.
They're still not clear about how the transition from swaying in a club in Manhattan to being tied up in a barn on the outskirts of NYC had happened, but to be fair, the ride along the way can be quite bumpy if you are treated like a couple of cargo parcels. Even though dizzy, I can bet that they now have a fair idea of who they were trying to mess with, earlier.
If you really want to go by stereotypical terms, the better half of the population of Arlington has crowned us as the rich kid bullies, and we took the label seriously, much to their dread and trouble. "I guess you have learned our names, huh?" I ask the guy, shivering like a cat left on the curb ever since we ripped the kid's biker jacket off.
"Yeah..." he whispers, clinging onto his dear friends by his side.
"Care to share?" I slump down to look him in the eye.
"Emma Callaway, Archie Schiller, Kylie Meyers, George Bailey, and..."
"And your worst nightmare– Mia." I take a glance at those pity faces and snort a laugh.
"Let's go, Mia, we're not that bad," Emma slurs, clinging on to Archie after chugging down a bottle of gin like it were water. Certain habits never change, do they?
"Says the baddest, huh, Emma," George winks at her. The lousy playboy has girls swooning over him, but he cannot seem to move on from his first crush.
"Back off, George," Archie steps between the two, clearly irked with his advances. The one half of the sweetheart couple of Arlington has all the responsibility of holding up their perfect image in front of the masses.
"Guys, where is Kylie?" I enquire, searching for a patch of purple in the otherwise noir setting.
"Here!" Kylie shouts, almost dozed off at the corner of the barn with a deceased cigarette. The typical teen rebel with only one cause; stepping up on a pedestal to hold the attention of her money loaded family.
"Again," our groans escape in perfect chorus. You can define us as the elites, the bullies, the A-listers, but in all honesty, none of those fit best. Those are just masks that we pulled over our real identities, because they're darker than people can handle.
